


Vanessa Holmes

by crimsonwinter



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, John Watson - Freeform, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, OC, Sherlock - Freeform, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, Sherlock's sister, alternative universe, sherlock's family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 12:12:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1186075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonwinter/pseuds/crimsonwinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's sister knows more about love than he'd expected, and after coming to stay with the men for a few days during her holiday, she coaxed a confession from both of them, Mycroft and Sherlock's wit and intelligence seeming to be a family trait.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vanessa Holmes

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really emotional right now and I feel like if Sherlock had a sister, she'd be compassionate, talented, and intelligent. AU where she's fifteen and Sherlock and John are nearly thirty.
> 
> It's also a mention that not all flirtatious, pining-after-older-men teenage girls are helpless and useless. She literally breaks her own heart so John and Sherlock can be happy.

John watched curiously as Sherlock paced in front of him. John was comfortably sipping his tea, Sherlock's anxiety about such an emotional subject appealing and new.

"You'll like her," the detective muttered.

John replied, "You said that."

"She'll like you."

"That too."

Sherlock's younger sister was coming up to London for a few weeks on her winter holiday from school, and Sherlock was finally introducing her to John. He'd texted her weekly about him, including but not limited to sending her the link to his blog. She was young and spirited, emotional and exuberant, as Sherlock had said.

The detective was worried that John would see him as a bad brother if something happened to Vanessa Holmes, since he was the middle child. Mycroft wasn't a good example of a perfect older brother, and Sherlock was competitive and furious about beating him in such a manner.

"It's Vanessa, remember," Sherlock stopped pacing and fluffed his hair, John's eyes instantly darting to his backside as he turned his body towards the window and away from him.

"I know. Sherlock, you're not acting like yourself. She'll be fine. I'll be fine. You'll be fine. It's all… fine."

Sherlock snapped his eyes open, unable to worry when John said that last bit. Something about it calmed him, told him that he wasn't alone in the struggle.

"I am resting until her cab arrives, don't disturb me. She said she'd text when she's here."

"Alright." John placidly watched the man scurry off to his room. It was so out of character for Sherlock to worry, fluster, and even nap.

John wasn't worried. He had a sister of his own, and he had dealt with her through braces and pimples and bad hair. A teenage girl wasn't anything new. Besides, if she was anything like Sherlock, John would be able to handle her.

He reached over to his right and took the paper from the small table. He checked the comics, the obituaries, the job offerings. He read the articles and glanced for his name, usually next to Sherlocks. He liked the way that looked.

When the knocker sounded from downstairs, John's ears pricked, darting his eyes up from the paper, ready to watch Sherlock explode from his room and show his sister up.

He was met with a still room and a silent air. Mrs. Hudson's voice drifted up from below, pleasantries exchanged. A clunk of luggage and a rustle of feet joined the voices and John peeked at Sherlock's closed door.

Supposing she hadn't texted him after all.

Mrs. Hudson led the girl upstairs, her croaky, sweet voice drifting back down as she left the girl alone at the top of the stairs. Sherlock's sister appeared in the doorway. John looked at her from his paper.

She was beautiful in an innocent way. She was tall, like Sherlock, rather skinny as well. Not unhealthy, but athletic, as if she played football nearly every day. She wore a pink shirt and a black coat, her faded jeans tightly stretched over her budding hips. Her bust was small, as John had expected, not that he looked, but her face was the most similar to Sherlock's. Although round, she had the same cheekbones and sharp nose, her eyebrows plucked and shaped above bright eyes. Her mouth was thin, not the plump, full lower lip that Sherlock possessed. She seemed to stare at him blankly and he began to rise from his chair, her eyes still fixed on his face. Her mouth hung open as if she was shocked.

"Hello, Vanessa. John Watson," he approached her and took her hand, a slight blush staining her pale, but slightly more natural than Sherlock's, skin.

"Sherlock's resting. He said you'd have texted him when you arrived."

"Oh, yeah," she chuckled nervously, wiping her hand on her thigh when John let it go. Her voice was melodic, as if she was a singer, but it was high and girly, a deep contrast to Sherlock's grumbling low.

Up close, he noticed she had a gold clip pinning her bangs back, her hair pulled into a sloppy bun. Her eyes were dazzling and he found himself caught in them before turning away. They were like Sherlock's, almost exact replicas, but they were lightly lined with black and were topped with thick black lashes, lightly smudged from the long trip.

"Sherlock," John called. "Hold on," he left towards Sherlock's room quickly, before turning around while walking awkwardly, "You can sit down, Mrs. Hudson has your bags?"

John slammed into Sherlock as he emerged from his room, the taller man's thin shirt receiving John's nose and mouth roughly.

"Sherl!" Vanessa said as the men untangled awkwardly.

"Nessa." He smiled coyly, but gave a dark look to John.

They hugged and John's heart was warmed. He was never hugged by Sherlock. Not that he wanted to be.

"How was your ride up?" Sherlock asked, general concern in his voice. He was a good big brother, after all. Seemed he didn't want to be what Mycroft was to him, although John knew that Mycroft had Sherlock's best interest in mind, no matter how coldly he seemed to show it.

"It was long, there was a bickering couple behind me on the train."

Her eyes stuck on John for a long while as she sat down, sinking deeply into the couch.

She pulled her jacket off, rather seductively, not breaking eye contact with John, and her thin arms were exposed, a light dusting of freckles coating them.

John felt uncomfortable by her gaze, her eyes were so much like Sherlock's, and he never looked at him so heatedly. Not when he was looking back, anyway.

"Tell me about them!" Sherlock was pleased to see his sister, he nearly bounded onto the couch next to her. His eyes ignited and they spoke lightly and excitedly. Sherlock seemed like an entirely different person. It was strange to John, not unwelcome, but strange nonetheless.

They chatted for a while, Vanessa looking at John every few moments, including him in conversation with every other look. John retreated into his paper, which received him a nasty look from Sherlock.

John found himself intimidated by Sherlock's sister. Her gaze was very intense, and he felt wrong for receiving such sultry looks from a teenager.

When Vanessa finally caught herself yawning, she retreated downstairs and brought up a small bag of toiletries. She asked John flirtatiously to bring up her bag. He obliged, only because Sherlock silently told him to. He didn't want to be rude, so while Vanessa sneaked into the bathroom to ready for bed, Sherlock followed John downstairs, bickering with him.

"Do you like her?"

"Of course, she's related to you." John wondered if that sounded as strange as he heard it.

"Good. I knew you would."

"It's funny, you're so different around her. Almost childish."

"Excuse yourself, John Watson, I am a consulting detective." Sherlock accepted his words as both compliment and insult, debating which was intended. He snapped back with witty words.

"And a big brother." John picked up the bag of clothes and brought them upstairs, Sherlock trailing behind him, nagging him once again.

"Yes, of course. John," he said, pausing.

"Hm?"

"Does she look like me? Or Mycroft?" His voice was strangely competitive, it made John smirk.

"She has your cheeks and eyes, but Mycroft's lips and hair. Not curly like yours."

"Makes it seem as if she's our daughter."

John faltered at the word 'our.' It took him a moment to realize he meant him and his brother, he laughed it off. "Don't make me think of that, Sherlock."

He brought the bag into the flat and set it down beside the bathroom door, which was closed, a sweet singing coming from it.

Sherlock loved to hear his sister sing, John was just getting used to seeing Sherlock excited and adorable, so this new smirk he'd made was glorious.

"Good, isn't she?"

"Mm." John sat back in his chair and continued to pretend to read the paper.

"What is it?" Sherlock leapt with his long legs into his own chair and John thought of Jack Skellington, the skeleton from the American animation.

"Nothing. You both have musical talent. It's nice."

"Yes, we do."

"How long will she be staying with you?"

"She'll be staying with us," Sherlock correctly mindlessly, "for about five days. I can take her around places, you'll spend time with her too."

Sherlock's formal language and tense body was thrown aside and he slumped into his chair, speaking colloquially.

John felt strange. "I'm going to bed, goodnight Sherlock."

Sherlock pined at the empty chair as John climbed the stairs into his room.

Vanessa popped out of the bathroom, humming, brushing through her straight brown hair with a wire brush.

"Where's John?"

"He went to bed."

"Oh."

Sherlock studied his sister. Her small figure was hidden beneath loose, baggy pants and a sweatshirt. Her lovely personality kept him smiling, but as he left for college when she was only a child, he found it harder to play with her. Their age difference was rather great, and although they kept in touch, her life was much different than his.

She dealt with boys and rulers and pencils all day, and Sherlock chased terrorists and child molesters.

She sat cross legged on the couch with him, already settled into 221B. This was the first time she'd met John, and she already seemed elated to have seen him.

"You seem pleased," her big brother joked.

"John's a fine man."

"What?" Sherlock heated, jealousy sparking in him. He felt strange and possessive, his competitive nature flaring against his sister's words.

Sherlock should've deduced that, due to her flushed face, dilated pupils, flirtatious smile, and instant questioning of John's whereabouts. Somehow he never ruled out the possibility that Vanessa would fancy John.

"He's really handsome, too."

Sherlock blanked, soaking in her words. She was just a child, how could she fancy someone more than ten years her senior?

"John's my closest friend…"

"I know, and I'm glad! I was so happy to meet him. I was speechless when I saw him for the first time. He has this… regality about him. Very poised and polite."

"He was in the war." Vanessa was turned inwards towards Sherlock, her eyes now clear of the makeup that had been there before. Sherlock was turned in as well, his dark blue dress shirt creasing as he slid a hand up to prop his head on.

"I know! You told me."

"Hm."

Sherlock's excited nature was gone and he was reduced to a possessive, cold shell.

"You told me everything about him, but I never thought he'd be so lovely."

"You like him?" Sherlock finally asked.

"Oh, yes! I liked him when you told me about your adventures, going on cases. I read his blog all the time, his writing is so flowing. I hate when he updates about his girlfriends, though. His face is rather worn, but it's sharp with loyalty."

She really was a clever girl. Having Mycroft and Sherlock as older brothers was an advantage.

"You think so?" Sherlock was less than clever at the moment, inundating in her words with a deep jealousy.

"Oh yes!" Her eyes sparkled and her smile was wide. "You say he's loyal, and I know what you mean when I look at him."

"You've only just met," he spat, attempting to hide his tone. He was unsuccessful.

"Not really, I know all about him. I only just saw him today. And how great that was!" She sighed dreamily, twirling her hair in her fingers.

"You surely don't - "

"Oh, I don't know, it might be love!" Vanessa was intelligent and polite and formal in every sense, but Sherlock found her rather stupid and vapid when she said that. He even disliked her.

"What do you know of love, you're fifteen."

"And you're twenty-nine. What say you of love?" She turned her eyes on Sherlock, both of them furrowing their dark brows, their strangely beautiful faces contorting and preparing for battle.

"More than you, I assure you."

"Oh?" Vanessa also had that competitive streak, she was always classified as the less intelligent one of her brothers, but she didn't let that stop her from studying up and keeping her mind sharp. Compared to Mycroft, she was average, but compared to Anderson, she was brilliant.

"Tell me what love is." Sherlock challenged his sister, slightly hoping John had wandered down to make some night time tea.

"Love is when everything a person does makes you ignite, their actions, their voice, their stories. Being in their presence is simply marvelous." She seemed confident.

"Partly, but not accurate. Love is - " he faltered, a series of memories of him and John flashing through his mind palace like a playback, he picked one and settled on it. The scene of the night they met, John shooting the cabbie in hopes to save Sherlock. That was strangely heroic of him. "Love is taking a bullet for someone," he said.

"Unlike you, I'm not faced with situations where I could literally do that," she remarked with sharp wit.

"Fine, then love is thinking of someone else's happiness before yours. You'd rather have yourself suffer than see them break."

Vanessa cocked a filled in brow, "And you know this how? You've shut yourself away from anyone who tried to love you. Remember Marissa?"

Ah, Sherlock's first girlfriend. "I sincerely doubt that counts, Vanessa. You never even met her, you were too young."

"Yes, but I heard."

"She didn't love me, nor I, her." Sherlock realized that he'd never loved any of the girls who fancied him, and upon entering college, he never fancied any of the men either. The only person he ever found himself thinking about in such cheesy ways as holding hands and kissing, mostly in dreams, was John.

"Then who do you love?"

"I don't." Sherlock looked away now, a light blush creaking up his neck.

Vanessa gasped. She'd been honing her deduction skills by practicing on her friends, which they all became irritated by rather quickly. "You love John!"

"Oh, for God's sake…" Sherlock began to argue but stopped when it hit him. He loved John. Every day, he woke up hoping that John was happy. He found himself comfortable in his presence and empty without it. He caught himself dreaming and sighing when he was away, and even Molly pointed out his pining when she'd said, _You look sad when you think he can't see you._

Sherlock drew his spindly legs in, his breath quickening.

"I can see why…" Vanessa smiled sadly. Sherlock loved his sister dearly, not only for pointing this out to him, but also for not even questioning his sexuality, when seconds previous they'd been talking of his first girlfriend.

"I s'pose… I've become rather fond of him."

"I'd always assumed, but I never thought you'd let yourself become attached to him. I see now, due to your reaction at my questions, that you love him dearly. Not just brotherly or platonically, you dream about him, too."

"How can you possibly know that?" he snarked, smiling now.

"You just told me." What a sneaky bastard she was.

"Tell me then, love expert, how am I in love with John Watson?"

Little did the siblings know, John had come down to make tea and was now hiding on the stairs, listening with perked ears at the conversation transpiring on the couch.

"You said love is partly being happy all the time around him, and I know that you would've sent me much more mopey texts if you weren't happy with John now. You said that you had dreams about him," John's breath hitched, "and you said that you had to take a bullet for them. You've literally done that multiple times on your cases, as did he for you." Vanessa was grinning now, although her eyes were watering.

"You're crying?" Sherlock didn't know how to handle teenage girl's changing emotions, the one thing he lacked as an older bother.

"Now that I think more about it, I don't think I've ever read or seen anyone love someone as much as you love John. Only he could put up with you, too. And you with him, since you say he's a prick sometimes." She twisted her hair harder. "It makes me happy to know that my brother has found someone to love… Who loves him, too."

"What?" Sherlock and John said in unison, John biting his thumb, his bum numbly plopped on the stairs, Sherlock darting his eyes around his sister's face.

"John must love you, Sherlock. Who else deals with your ridiculous ways? Who else shoots a man he doesn't know? Who else risks his life daily to continue to explore with you? I feel like if he could, John would come back to life for you."

"How can you know all of this?"

"Your messages and his blog. Formal writing can't hide everything, even John's. He talks about you a lot. He says that you're brilliant and impossible. He says that working with you on cases has been the most exciting thing he's ever done, most fulfilling. " Vanessa seemed to become aware of John's lurking presence, which had emerged from the staircase and was standing small in the kitchen. She glanced at him, a tear sliding down her face sloppily now, she couldn't help but bawl silently as she continued to talk.

"And the way he looks at you," she continued, wiping her nose on her sleeve, "he looks at you like you're the most fascinating creature he's ever laid eyes on. As if your entire being captivates him, from your regal, formal structure to the way you slouch now, talking to me."

"Vanessa…" Sherlock reveled in her words, unaware that John was doing the same.

The young girl wanted to hold out the secret as long as she could, so with another sloppy tear she said, "Are you in love with John Watson, brother?"

"I most certainly am in love with John Watson, sister." Sherlock liked the way that sounded as it vibrated into his throat.

Vanessa licked the salty tear from her lips. She turned her head in John's direction now.

"And are you in love with Sherlock Holmes, John Watson?" Sherlock's heartbeat quickened as he followed her shining eyes to John's humble form, shying away from them. His mind palace turned pink and fuzzy when he saw John tug a small smile from his face.

"I am in love with Sherlock Holmes, Vanessa Holmes."

"Good. It was never going to work out with us, John. I think we should just be friends. You're too old for me anyway," Vanessa joked and made light of the situation, but her heart was breaking, John could tell. Sherlock was oblivious to his sister's pain because he didn't take his eyes off of John, and John couldn't pull his gaze away from Sherlock after he darted his woodland eyes from his sister, her nod of approval sending him forward with the strength to move his legs. He approached.

Vanessa drew her legs into her chest and weeped silently on the couch, dampening her pants with heavy tears as the men stood and faced each other, completely shocked but grateful that the teenage girl beside them opened up an entirely new world for them with such simple words.


End file.
